What a Hand Towel Cant Hide
by The Readers Muse
Summary: A tale about what a catalyst a little brown hand towel and a timely Spatial wave distortion can have...Ah the delicious possibilities. McCoy/Spock slash.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I don't not own Star Trek or any of it's characters. Do you THINK I would be here If I did?! So I do not in any way shape or form own any of the plot or the characters. They belong to whoever owns 'em. I just took the general idea for a test jaunt. So, don't sue me...not that it would be beneficial, as I am a poor university student, yadda yadda yadda.

**Authors Note #1:** This story was inspired by the Star Trek Voyager episode: "Twisted", which was the twenty-second episode in the first season. I liked the idea of some outside force moving rooms and decks about like the 'Spatial distortion' did to Voyager in that episode. Is it just me or does anyone else realize the deliciously naughty possibilities that could result.

**Authors Note #2:** This is a tame Spock and McCoy slash boys and girls, so count yourselves as warned. Why Spock and McCoy you ask? Well, other then the fact that they are both undeniably delicious, it is simply this, no two people who argue **that** much, **all** the time, about virtually **nothing** cannot **not** have a love on for the other. Thats my reasoning anyway. Pah! Like anyone really needs an excuse to slash them together anyway!?

Please read and review. I am excited to see what you all think. I am open to comments, advice, and constructive criticism.

**What A Hand Towel Can't Hide – 'To Hell in a Hand Basket'**

The crew of the _USS Enterprise_ were used to handling adversity, in fact their Captain seemed to thrive on it. As the flag ship of the Federation they were used to the nearly nonstop conflict and strange alien encounters that seemed almost normal when they left space dock. Sometimes the red alert alarm seemed to get as much use as the food synthesizers. Each new day seemed to present some new and exciting mystery to solve, or some life threatening plague to be cured. If there was one thing to be said about life on the _Enterprise_, it was certainly anything but dull.

Major emergencies, alien apocalypses, raging Klingons and daring space battles were simply life as per usual aboard the ship. The crew took each new encounter or occurrence in stride, continuing to go about their business with the confidence that came from years of Star Fleet training and the reassurance that came with knowing that their Captain was one who could be both respected, and trusted.

In short, the Captain and crew of the star ship _Enterprise_ could take a lot of abuse. But **this**...this was just about too much. The last three days hadn't just been punishing on their bodies, but their pride had also taken quite the beating as well.

It had all began almost forty-eight hours earlier when their sensors had detected a strange, unidentified spacial distortion approaching from directly ahead. Unconcerned the Captain had bowed to Spock's wishes and had treated the phenomenon as a scientific curiosity, changing course out of it's path but staying close enough to record scientific data.

Unfortunately when it happened, the words of warning were barely out of the Vulcan's mouth before it was too late. As the first edges of the wave approached, the phenomenon abruptly expanded, closing about the ship in much the same way a rattlesnake swallows it's prey, with unbelievable speed, but a slow digestion process.

The yelling chaotic chaos of the bridge abruptly fell silent as a strange, ominous hum echoed through the bridge halting crewmen in mid-order as the view screen abruptly went black as even the stars disappeared, their light unable to permeate the encroaching mass just as the nose of the ship was engulfed.

But the moment of tentative calm was short lived, as seconds later the bulkheads around them shifted and with a deafening screech the ship was send into an uncontrolled tumble, the stabilizers partially failing as an inner eddie caught them in mid-flight, sending equipment and crewmen alike flying.

However the real action was not riveted to the Captains seat as one might surmise. It was in fact to be seen on the far side of the bridge with Doctor McCoy and Spock. Just before the impact McCoy had been perched at his usual spot behind Jim's chair, his arms crossed in front of him in his commonly relaxed way.

As usual, Spock and the good doctor had been arguing, the subject of the quarrel was later forgotten, but apparently McCoy was under the impression that he had won, as the ghost of a 'I told you so' smirk was still playing across his lips even as the tall Vulcan turned back to his station, the raised arch of his eyebrow the only evidence of his feelings. They both seemed absolutely, painfully oblivious to the sexual tension that virtually crackled around them whenever they were together.

To nearly everyone else, their constant arguing and bickering had turned over the years into a sort of strange flirtation, and Kirk could hardly restrain a roll of his eyes as they started up again, the cogs and wheels turning madly in his brain as he formulated yet another rather clandestine fantasy of trying to get his two best friends to face facts and just have at each other already.

The moment the horrendous noise had ripped though the deck Spock had swiveled in his chair, turning towards the Captain just as the distortion sent the ship in a uncontrollable tumble. It was pure ironic fate that set the rest in motion.

Caught off guard McCoy hadn't even had a moment to grab a hold of something, and when the gravity failed he flew into the air, catapulting over both the Captains chair and the adjoining railing. Spock, having turned towards him, even as he had braced himself against the chair with a one-armed death grip on the armrest, his brain was working at a level that greatly surpassed the cognitive abilities of any human, dumping sensory output in his brain faster then it took to blink, and therefore, his eyes were able to catch the flying blue blur of the smaller man, and with all the strength and speed of his race he lunged forward, arms outstretched in order to catch him.

It had apparently not occurred to the Vulcan that launching himself out of his own chair and into a gravity-less stew of flying people and equipment, all to catch a man that would probably only have a few bruises to show for his undoubtedly brief launch through the air was not the most logical course of action. But then again, as we have learned...sometimes logic has nothing to do with the actions and feelings of people, Vulcan or not.

In one smooth movement he had caught the doctor in mid air, curling his body around that of the other man, protecting him as momentum threw them across the bridge to slam into the opposing wall. For a brief moment both were too stunned to move, neither noticing their intimate position as they both focused on bringing back the oxygen that had been forced from their bruised lungs.

But then, quite suddenly, their eyes both snapped open. Deep blue eyes meeting with those slanted dark brown ones, a twin sensation of heated electricity running down their spines at their closeness, both hardly daring to even quiver as they realized what had just happened. Kirk was just climbing back to his seat when he caught sight of the two of them, a rumpled pile of uniforms and limbs at the far corner of his bridge, half hidden underneath the ledge of a console.

They were sprawled together in an embrace as close and heated as a pair of lovers. With Spock astride the stunned doctor, an arm still wrapped tightly around McCoy's waist, the other curled around his head, protecting him at every turn. Their legs were wrapped together, with one of Spock's slipped in between the doctors, and one of the doctors resting sensually across the Vulcan's hip. It might have, for all intents and purposes, seemed like an innocent encounter, but that notion was deemed utterly inaccurate when Kirk gazed at them more closely.

As instead of immediately separating, they stayed locked together, just staring at each other, their erratic breathing continuing far after they had both regained their breath. Instead of the doctors usual scathing remarks, or biting comments, he stayed mute. His mouth half open in something akin to stunned surprise.

If Spock had been in any position to realize it, he might have been able to experience a sense of supressed triumph at finally rendering the acid-tongued, Georgian physician utterly speechless. But he too, for once, could not comment. He seemed caught in the doctors gaze just as fully as the doctor was to his, a single eyebrow arched as he attempted to process the feelings that were rippling unhindered through his psyche as he held the blue eyed man. And as if that wasn't enough, in their rather graceless landing McCoy's hands had wrapped about the Vulcan's back and arms, his nails digging into his skin. The unconscious movement originally made to steady himself had turned undoubtedly erotic when he did not remove his hands, his grip coupled with Spock's bringing their lower bodies up to brush the other.

Their heated staring match continued until the overheated console above them sputtered into spark and flame, clearly displeased at the intense strain it had been put through. But the noise and wavering flame was enough to break them from their inner turmoil and snap them back to the impending embarrassment of reality.

Spock visibly shook himself, as if trying to mentally shake his confused emotions and addled brain back into order. And with the grace of a feline he arched up, effortlessly unfolding his long limbs from the doctors and regaining his footing, staring down at the doctor for a moment before offering his hand down to him.

The doctor in the meantime had leveled himself up on his elbows, and for a long moment simply stared at the emasculate, long fingered hand above him, for finally reaching up and taking it. The two men maintained the contact only as long as necessary before they both parted, Leonard's embarrassed, and slightly uncertain countenance covertly displayed in the quick clearing of his throat and the slight fidgeting he made as he straightened his rumpled uniform.

As both men retook their posts, it was apparent to Jim that they were under the impression that no one had noticed a thing, but both were undeniably ruffled, as if they had suddenly found themselves on a unfamiliar playing ground, no longer knowing the rules and the strategy they were to play by. And for a brief moment, before the all consuming chaos of the bridge resumed, Kirk had a moment to pause and grin, his hand caressing his chin as he pondered the implications of this unorthodox, yet fortuitous encounter.

_'Could this be that first step_?' He wondered as he eyed the two men, who were both determinedly looking any where but each other. _'Who knows what the future will bring?'_ He thought with a final smile, before he finally returned to his own reality and barked out an order for a status report, bending over to aid a pretty, red-headed yeoman out from under a tangle of other crewmen, his smile, while not meant for her, earned him a heated glance from the fiery haired officer.

True to form it didn't take the crew of the _Enterprise_ long to ascertain their predicament. They soon determined they were caught in a spatial distortion wave, one which Spock hypothesized, by estimating the waves rate of ionic decay, had it's origins in the far reaches of the galaxy, possibility as far as the unexplored Delta quadrant.

They were caught fast in the wave, unable to either go to warp or communicate with the outside as the distortion seemed to have a dampening effect on their equipment. After a long number of rather frustrating and unfruitful hours even Scotty gave up, leaving the warp core in a right foul mood, swearing himself cross-eyed before tactfully informing the Captain. They weren't going anywhere anytime soon.

It took the Science team a few hours, but with Spock heading the team they finally determined that the only thing they could do was wait. Estimating that in close to ninety-six hours the distortion wave would release them and continue on it's relentlessly unstoppable way, undoubtedly to continue terrorizing other star ships throughout the galaxy as it went.

However there was no chance to even think much into the greater scope of their predicament. Repair crews were virtually crawling about every square inch of the ship, mending all the damage they had sustained when the wave had first hit. Engineering was knee deep in warp core analysis as Scotty still soldiered on with his orders, vainly attempting to to coax the life back in his precious engines. Yeoman were turned into glorified messenger-boys as ship-wide communications failed soon after the warp core did. And McCoy and his staff were soon elbow deep in broken bones, scrapes, bruises and concussions as the wounded began to pour into the sickbay from every corner of the ship.

Indeed the first officer seemed to be the only crew member who seemed largely unaffected by there predicament and indeed seemed to be almost enjoying himself as he poured over the scientific data that the senors were collecting, uttering only a half-whispered 'fascinating' as he arched a customary brow as he came across a particularly interesting piece of data.

However, as the Captain would later record in his log, the next event simply added insult to injury, wounding his already ruffled pride. As if being held motionless, floating in a stream of intergalactic backwash wasn't enough, no one was prepared for the full effects of the phenomenon.

It began innocently enough in random areas of the ship. Someone would open a supply cabinet, and instead of presenting the desired supplies the person would be greeted by a bare wall, as if it had always been a door to no where. However things soon turned much more serious, with the entire corridors suddenly leading to the wrong places. Or doorways that took you to the right place, but transported you halfway across the ship when you exited by them.

Soon a person to heading to the Bridge might suddenly find themselves in Hydroponics, and those heading to Engineering would end up in Sickbay. And before the Bridge crew could even fully form a working hypothesis half their crewmen were missing, likely stuck in different parts of the ship, scurrying around like rats in a maze. Even the Bridge was affected with Kirk ordering all his staff to exit out through the access ports after he watched Lieutenant Sulu simply disappear from sight as he stepped into the Turbo lift, winking out of sight as if he hadn't even been there in the first place.

As the good doctor would put it, everything was going '_to hell in a hand basket'_, with half the command crew scattered around the ship, working their tails off to keep the ship running, while the other half were still stuck in various area of the ship.

Of course, the infallible Mister Spock soon determined what was going on. The spatial wave was causing internal distortions inside the _Enterprise_, in a sense, warping the entire structural layout of the ship. An inevitably harmless, but annoying effect of the distortion wave they were immersed in.

Everyone was being run ragged, it was virtually impossible for the replacement shifts to locate their respective duty stations, and some were even still stuck on their quarters caught in some sort of perverse loop as their doors opened to the bathrooms and their bathrooms exiting back into the room again. However, even amidst all the frenzied repairs and data collecting, our two deluded boys managed to run into each other a number of times, finding their thoughts straying back to the incident on the bridge with far more frequency then either were comfortable with.

In short it was over forty-eight before they were both relieved, respectfully but firmly kicked out of their posts by the Captain himself, his no nonsense tone broaching no argument as he ordered them both to a few solid hours of rest.

So as it happened, from opposite sides of the ship, both men started carefully down the corridors towards their quarters, tri-corders beeping tinnily through the near deserted halls as they skirted the ever changing distortions, for once their minds focused on the same thing: a shower, a square meal, and rest...and not necessarily in that order either.

**But** this is not my story to tell, and as such since we are beyond all the technical, explanatory mumbo-jumbo I will let the boys handle it from here...


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** I don't not own Star Trek or any of it's characters. Do you THINK I would be here If I did?! So I do not in any way shape or form own any of the plot or the characters. They belong to whoever owns 'em. I just took the general idea for a test jaunt. So, don't sue me...not that it would be beneficial, as I am a poor university student, yadda yadda yadda.

**Authors Note #1:** This story was inspired by the Star Trek Voyager episode: "Twisted", which was the twenty-second episode in the first season. I liked the idea of some outside force moving rooms and decks about like the 'Spatial distortion' did to Voyager in that episode. Is it just me or does anyone else realize the deliciously naughty possibilities that could result.

**Authors Note #2:** This is a tame Spock and McCoy slash boys and girls, so count yourselves as warned. Why Spock and McCoy you ask? Well, other then the fact that they are both undeniably delicious, it is simply this, no two people who argue **that** much, **all** the time, about virtually **nothing** cannot **not** have a love on for the other. Thats my reasoning anyway. Pah! Like anyone really needs an excuse to slash them together anyway!?

Please read and review. I am excited to see what you all think. I am open to comments, advice, and constructive criticism.

**What A Hand Towel Can't Hide – 'Georgian Ingenuity'**

"Just a few more meters Leonard old boy...just one more blasted corridor." He muttered tiredly, bleary eyes fixed on his tricorder's beeping read out as he carefully navigated around the shifting internal distortions. But all his care was for naught, and his foul mood only increased when he turned the corner a second too late and found himself in Science Lab four, over five decks away from his cabin.

"God dammit! I am a doctor, not a magician!" He cursed vehemently, startling a rather excitable looking Ensign from his pile of data pads, the scruffy-looking man giving him the classic 'deer in the headlights' stare as the perturbed doctor fixed him with an imposing look as he stalked out.

_'I'm turning circles like a lab rat in a cage.'_ He thought irritably, digging the heels of his hands into his tired eyes before squaring his shoulders and starting back down the corridor. He was burnt out and he knew it. All he could think about was making to back to his quarters before he passed out in the middle of the corridor.

He had done the equivalent of four duty shifts in a row with hardly any staff. In fact, for an entire duty shift it had been only him and Nurse Chapel with his other nurses and technicians ominously missing. He had even been weary of taking a quick cat nap in his office, actually catching an odd hour or two on one of his own bio-beds after Christine had went inside collect some paper work and had gotten caught in a distortion wave. It had taken her over an hour to find her way back, leading him to figure it was probably safer to avoid doorways all together.

It wasn't until Doctor M'Benga breezed through the door of one of the labs and into the main Sick bay before he had even thought about clocking out. His appearance caused quite the stir indeed, even drawing an amused titter out of Christine as the dark-skinned doctor strolled up to them. The man seemed entirely unperturbed to find himself in Sick bay in only a short blue bathrobe, the length barely covering his lower thighs. However, he only grinned and pulled on a spare lab coat, commenting he only wished he had found himself there a few hours ago when he had been trying to get to Sick bay, instead of when he had been heading to his bathroom for a shower. Thinking back he rolled his eyes at the memory but he couldn't quite deny that he hadn't had a good, much needed laugh about it at the time either.

"Damn that pointy-eared pixie and his infernal curiosity." He muttered darkly, tentatively waving his tri-corder at an open Turbo lift in front of him before he gingering stepped inside, half expecting to be transported into space as the doors swished closed.

As if they could sense his mood on the wind crew members and officers alike gave him a wide berth as they passed, saving their questions as he stalked part, eyes glued to his tri-corder. After all, it really wasn't wise to annoy the same man that gives you your monthly physical.

But as focused as he was he couldn't stop his thoughts from wandering, leading him back to the events on the Bridge nearly two days earlier. He still couldn't shake it from his mind..the memory of the Vulcan's touch burned in his memory like a red-hot cattle brand, continuing to simmer in the back of his brain despite his best efforts to cast them away.

He hadn't even seen him move. One moment he had been hurtling through the air like a blue colored rocket, his eyes squeezed shut as he anticipated a rather painful crash landing. But then, in the next moment, he had found himself enveloped in mid-air, pulled into the likes of an embrace that he had never before experienced. It was as if he was molded into a new shape, becoming part of an entirely new whole.

They had hit the ground together, flesh again flesh, but with not one inch of the hard deck plating meeting with his skin, his benefactor taking the full brunt of the impact. Event before gravity bore them to the floor his senses provided him his first impression of his unknown rescuer. His senses sent signals to his brain faster then he could blink, compensating for his closed eyes, giving him the means to understand what he could not see.

Through the course fabric his fingers could feel the subtle curve of muscles, the steel-like cords belaying a quiet but powerful strength. The curving limbs that had wound together with his own told him the person was of a superior stature...And the ragged breathing at his ear almost gave away the gender as it held a distinctly masculine tilt.

It had taken him a moment to regain his senses, but when he had finally opened his eyes the word: 'surprise' suddenly seemed to be a less then accurate description for his complete and utter shock.

But before he had even collected himself enough to form a covering comment he was struck mute by the look in Spock's eyes. Reflecting in those dark eyes was a look he had never seen before. It lasted barely a few seconds before that damnable Vulcan control slid back into place, but not before he had seen it. It had been emotion...emotion! And strangely instead of crowing in triumph for finally succeeding in wringing a feeling out of his Vulcan nemesis, he found himself thinking about just how much he would give to simply see that look in his eyes again.

They had locked gazes, his heart rate suddenly soaring as he took in the man above him. He was leaning closely over him, his hot breath ghosting over his neck, raw emotion reflecting back at him, and a sharp thrill had thrusted through him when he realized that Spock had eyes for no one but him.

It had been heated, powerful...confusing and magnetizing, and though the feeling was only present in those eyes for a moment he had found himself unable to look away, struck spell bound by the sheer intensity of it.

He was brought rudely back to the present when he found himself forced to do a quick and surprisingly nimble back step to avoid colliding with Ensign Chekov as the young man barreled around the next corner. His presence brought the rather frazzled officer to an abrupt halt, his toes audibly digging into the carpet as he nearly slid to a stop in front of him. "Wheres the fire Ensign?" He demanded roughly, his temper getting the better of him as he thought about just how close he had come to becoming road kill.

"Ach! I am sorry sir! I vas trying to 'vind Lieutenant Uhura. 'Ve 'vere 'valking together and then, suddenly she 'vas gone!" He explained, snapping his fingers together to explain his point, his Russian accent thickening as his irritation increased. A distinct frown forming in place of his usual smile as he starred down as his tri-corder as if it had done him some sort of personal injustice.

Unable to maintain his perturbed expression he smiled back at the young ensigns expression. "Well unfortunately lad, I would say she is on the other side of the ship by now." He replied, double checking his own tri-corder to make sure a wave wasn't going to snatch them up as well.

The young Russian paused a moment before smiling back, his smile genuine as he bid the doctor farewell as he began down the corridor again. "I'd wish you luck if I didn't think it wouldn't be such a waste of breath!" He called over his shoulder with a small chuckle before continuing on his own way, his thoughts returning to his interrupted train of thought as easily as if he hadn't been interrupted at all.

His mind remembered being overwhelmed by the smell of the man, breathing in the Vulcan's exotic and spicy scent as he tried to regain his breath. And while he recognized it as the mans usual unique scent, this time there had been something different about it, something that sent a strange tingle down his spine and a heated trickle of molten liquid into his belly.

He shook his head as if attempting to rid himself of his treacherous thoughts. "Len old man, **you** have been working to hard...Your starting to hallucinate." He told himself firmly as he turned the final corner and entered his corridor, breathing an audible sigh of relief as he scanned for any distortions, finding no evidence of the previous disturbance.

When he finally made it to his quarters he grinned as he passed the device across the threshold, thanking whatever deity was responsible for leaving his door mercifully undisturbed. Smirking he clicked off the tri-corder. "Guess there is something to be said for good old fashioned Georgian ingenuity after all." He quipped, bouncing on the balls of his feet in his usual self-satisfied way as he punched in his security code.

But just before he disappeared into the comforting familiarity of his rooms he paused, casting a fleeting glance down the empty hall towards Spock's cabin, staring at it for a moment before, for reasons he couldn't quite define he flushed, abruptly turning back into his own room as his unsettled brain whirled. His memories returning unbidden to the moment of their heated embrace on the bridge, with the body of his Vulcan nemesis curled intimately around his own, his closeness making his head spin and jolts of electricity tingle down his spine..exciting his nerves to flame.

He almost banged his head on his door frame in frustration..."Aw hell..." He whispered, leaning his forehead against the cool metal of the bulkhead... "Aw hell.."


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** I don't not own Star Trek or any of it's characters. Do you THINK I would be here If I did?! So I do not in any way shape or form own any of the plot or the characters. They belong to whoever owns 'em. I just took the general idea for a test jaunt. So, don't sue me...not that it would be beneficial, as I am a poor university student, yadda yadda yadda.

**Authors Note #1:** This story was inspired by the Star Trek Voyager episode: "Twisted", which was the twenty-second episode in the first season. I liked the idea of some outside force moving rooms and decks about like the 'Spatial distortion' did to Voyager in that episode. Is it just me or does anyone else realize the deliciously naughty possibilities that could result?

**Authors Note #2:** This is a tame Spock and McCoy slash boys and girls, so count yourselves as warned. Why Spock and McCoy you ask? Well, other then the fact that they are both undeniably delicious, it is simply this, no two people who argue **that** much, **all** the time, about virtually **nothing** cannot **not** have a love on for the other. Thats my reasoning anyway. Pah! Like anyone really needs an excuse to slash them together anyway!?

Please read and review. I am excited to see what you all think. I am open to comments, advice, and constructive criticism.

**What A Hand Towel Can't Hide – 'A Logical Deduction'**

However McCoy wasn't the only one caught up in his own thoughts that shift, for the ships first officer and sole Vulcan found himself in a constant state of inner reflection as well. Strangely all throughout his duty shift he found his mind drifting, finding himself unable to completely suppress his preoccupation. Something which in turn, troubled him greatly as the last time he had experienced such inner conflict was on the onset of his first Pon Farr.

The extent of his disturbed frame of mind became fully apparent to him when, for one of the first times in his entire Starfleet career he caught himself watching the minutes tick by on the nearest chronometer. He had to suppress the urge to invoke his officers privilege and summon his replacement early so he could retreat to his quarters and meditate, to attempt to collect himself and settle his thoughts.

But of course, since it was neither logical nor prudent for the first officer to leave the Bridge in an emergency situation he remained at his post, steadfastly refusing to look at the far corner of the where the cause of his emotional turmoil stemmed. However, as the hours wore on, he had to brutally discipline his mind, slamming down his every emotional control as he realized that despite his attentive concentration, a slow trickle of images and recollections from the incident were filtering through his shielding, letting him recall the actions and barely suppressed emotions of those two minutes and eleven point four seconds of contact with much more clarity then he was comfortable with.

When his replacement had arrived, finally appearing through the main doors with an understandably confused expression on his face, he has wasted no time in exiting the Bridge, hardly pausing to give more then a respectful departing nod to the Captain before lithely climbing into the closest access hatch, his tri-corder already set up to scan for the distortions. And as he clambered through the narrow twists and turns he strangely found himself taking a small bit of solace of having escaped the nearly tangible mental barrage of emotions that were present on the tensed atmosphere of the Bridge.

However, despite his caution, as he exited at the nearest hatch, he found that even his superior reflexes were too slow, and a wave over took him, sending him at least ten decks down. So instead of clambering out into the corridor of the next deck, he emerged quite suddenly into the crowded Mess hall from the access panel below the replicators, his sudden appearance eliciting a small number of surprised shrieks that jarred his sensitive ear drums from a group of women in front of him.

After a few near misses he finally located the correct deck, moving with slow purposeful strides as he kept an attentive eye on his tri-corder, raising a quizzical eyebrow as he studied the read outs. _'Fascinating..' _He mused, pausing at the next corridor as he passed the device across the open hall in a long sweeping arc, his scientific interest aroused in spite of his desire for solitude.

According to his tri-corder he was currently on deck ten, however his quarters were not located on that deck. But, due to a scientific process he could neither deduce nor admittedly even begin to understand the spatial phenomenon had moved the entire row of Officers quarters to deck ten.

He pondered the logic of such an action for a moment as he increased the scanning resolution of his scanner before he reminded himself that it was likely that there was no logical reasoning behind the placement of the shifting internal distortions as there had been absolutely nothing to indicate they were in the grips of some vast space-born entity.

The ships scanners had recorded nothing but garbled telemetry, the readings sporadic, sometimes spewing out data at a speed that threatened to overload the computers memory banks, and then with no warning it would slow down to such a speed that it almost seemed as though the computer had malfunctioned. It was as if the sensor relays on the outer hull had been thrown into a state of never-ending temporal flux.

But regardless of the increasingly complex and strange anomalies there was nothing to indicate that they were dealing with a life-form, sentient or otherwise. However that fact had not stopped the doctor from illogically declaring that he believed, as he put it, "_it_", _it_ being the spatial distortion, was apparently, "_messing with them."_

The irritable physician had not been pleased when he had pointed out that it was illogical to refer to a simple spatial phenomenon as a conscious entity. And as usual with their debates the doctor had refused to accept defeat graciously and had pursued the issue with him from across the Bridge from Spock's station, seeming to make a concise effort not to stray too close to him. Something for which Spock felt immensely grateful, preferring to keep a considerable distance between himself and the brown-haired doctor for as long as possible as his shaken controls regained their usual impermeable strength.

However, complete mastery continued to elude him, and for some strange reason his eyes continued to stray back to the smaller man, watching as he continued on with the argument, having not noticed his momentary lapse of attention. He soon found he could hardly tear his eyes away, noticing as if for the first time the way McCoy gestured with his hands when he was irritated, the unconsciously elegant movements bringing his slender, lightly calloused hands into focus.

He had once overheard a group of young women deep in flirtatious discussion over the very same hands. It had been over a year ago in the mess hall, but he still remembered the conversation in perfect clarity. At the time he had not understood all their references, but now he believed he had the just of it. The man certainly **did** have the hands of a surgeon...and they **were** rather pleasing to the eye...as if he had been perfectly crafted for his profession. However, he had a feeling that that wasn't entirely what the talkative Yeomen were referring to.

From his hands Spock was unable to halt his roaming eyes from traveling up to his face, truly inspecting the mans tanned features for the first time. He saw how the years had made their mark on the man, creating that undeniable character he had come to associate with the doctor, with each small line adding yet another dimension to the mans handsome face. From there his keen eyes caught the slight deepening of his eye color, the light ice-blue shade darkening as the man's ire was piked.

Then, as suddenly and as unexpectedly as one of the Vulcan Forges sand fires, something happened. The reaction would have likely been dismissed by anyone else, but to a Vulcan...to him, it had hit him like the flying tackle of a wild Selat. It had been sexual excitement, anticipation...nothing as strong as before, but the..._feeling_ had been no less as potent. The hairs on the back of his neck had prickled and he had barely been able to suppress a shiver as a heated bolt of arousal arrowed down to his groin, nearly shattering his thinly stretched control.

But while his lack of control had previously unsettled him he was able to maintain his dignity by shifting in his chair, his face a carefully composed mask of false interest as the Doctors rant gradually lost cohesion and faltered when he did not rise up to the bait, portraying a sudden great interest in his control panel.

Yet, despite his confidence in his composed demeanor he had not missed the Captains amused expression as he watched them bicker, sending him only a pointed look and a wink from over the rim of his coffee mug when he met his stare, raising a questioning eyebrow in return. The entire exchange led Spock to wonder if the perceptive man actually knew his thoughts. The idea that another might know such intimate feelings was disturbing to say the least. However, as he had come to learn throughout the years, it was not often that Jim missed anything.

The sound of approaching crewmen shook him throughly out of his musings, leaving him to abruptly realize that in his distraction he had nearly come to a stop in the middle of the corridor. He took a moment to privately marvel at his tumultuous state of mind. Finding it strange how one small, seemingly minuscule encounter in the span of his life thus far had brought him to such uncertainty and inner conflict.

He could not understand the severity his reaction when he had faced much more emotionally disturbing events throughout his time on the _Enterprise_. He had been witness to the passing of friends and fellow crewmen alike. He had watched as the emotions played across their faces in the finally moments, seeing the shock and disbelief fade to regret...seeing the very moment when the life left their eyes and the glassy glaze of death began to film them over. He had seen such horrors but he had always managed to maintain his control.

Yet now, in spite of his best efforts, confusion, discomfort, and...desire threatened to run rampant through his emotionally battered shields. Composing himself he nodded to a group of Yeoman as they past, their conversation shushing the moment they caught sight of their superior, their eyes flickering over him as he continued down the empty corridor, his tri-corder beeping eerily in the near silence of the hall.

The situation simply made no logical sense. While he had always found the doctor esthetically pleasing...for a human, he had simply never thought of the Doctor in the respects of a life-mate or as a human would say, a 'romantic interest'. In truth he had never truly viewed anyone in that manner, preferring to submerse himself in scientific research and his duties rather then flesh. Even T'Pring, his childhood bride had never fully sparked his interest, and neither had any female, nor indeed male, ever inspired his instinctual yearning for a bond mate.

Therefore this sudden attraction...this connection that he felt for the fiery surgeon made no logical sense! And while his experience in such matters was admittedly limited he did know that such attraction and...affection did not develop simply because of one single incident. Infatuation maybe...but not this...**this** he somehow knew was much deeper and inherently different, he could simply sense it, he couldn't logically explain it, he just **knew** it. Which in it'self was of course, most illogical!

_'But regardless, such a 'feeling' did not explain his sudden...'_ His internal monologue abruptly trailed off in mid thought as another possibility occurred to him, his brain working efficiently to ascertain the truth of his thoughts. _'Unless this **wasn't** the result of single incident. Perhaps this...feeling was something that had formed throughout their service of duty. Something that perhaps he had never admitted to himself but had always been aware of on an unconscious level.'_

Logically this approach made more sense, and somehow it did not displease him, the notion serving to actually sooth his confused sense of self. But regardless of this new sense of control he knew the relief from his confusion was only temporary. What he needed was mediation, he needed to submerse himself in inner contemplation in order to achieve a balance within himself. He needed to sift through his memories and ascertain the root of these new and illogical feelings, and from there logic would determine his next course of action.

His mind appeased he rounded the final corner and turned his full attention to his surroundings as his tri-corder hummed busily in his grasp, the increased range picking up the steady life signs of the cabins inhabitants as he passed, making his way quickly to his own quarters.

He mind was already focused on the first step of his usual ritual meditation, already visualizing the cleansing power of the dancing flames in his fire pit and the comforting warmth of his rooms as he keyed in his security code.

He was just passing though the threshold, mentally lowering his tender-hook like grip on his mental controls when he was violently wrenched back, his biological controls rapidly assaulted by his own psyche as reality returned with such stunning force that he almost stumbled backwards.

It was a scent, his keen sense of smell had picked up a fading odor still wafting weakly through the recycled air. That simple smell triggered a powerful serge of sensation, the signal impacting his brain with punishing force, completely shattering his thin veneer of suppression, awakening the long dormant, more primitive center of his mind faster then he could regroup and suppress him.

_He burned! His blood sang! It was him! **McCoy**! His!? _Scrabbling to regain himself he clutched at the door frame to keep from reeling backward in this sensual delirium, panting like a winded animal, his face flushed a dark green as his body continued to betray him.

To his heightened senses the air seemed to almost permeate with the mans distinct scent. It was a mixture of scents all combined together that made up the mans essence, and he could detect them all. There was the subtle scent of aftershave, the sharp metalic tang of medical chemicals, and just the slightest hint of Kentucky style Bourbon, all mixed together with his natural musky male scent. It was a smell that virtually began to intoxicate him, burning into his brain and igniting his nerve endings to flame.

That smell, so simple and innocent in it's commonality, something that would have hardly warranted a twitch of an eyebrow from him under normal circumstances had awoke something in him, something that tickled at the very edges of his conscious mind. Something primal and ancient, something instinctive that prowled along the edges of his hastily mended barriers, searching...seeking to be let out.

_'Mate! Aitlu! Desired one! Autlun! ' _It screamed in ancient Vulcan, a language that usually sang so melodious and pure from the tongue now singed his mind as it blasted through to his very soul, awakening the instinctive craving for a life mate, the yearning for a bond with his chosen. To a Vulcan, nothing is more important then a life-bond, for a mate to live out their days with, to mate with, to feel with, and to die with. It was one aspect of the old days that had been so infused into their souls that every Vulcan keenly felt the emptiness that lay in being alone, in being unbonded. As if their minds and souls were incomplete without their hearts mate, the one who would meet them in their minds and know them, know them to the very core of themselves. Of course, this was something they never shared with outsiders, even many Vulcan's refused to admit their calling of their own blood, the implications were beyond any scientific theory or explanation, it was beyond the logic that their race held so dear, it simply was and had always been so.

And for one century long moment, he knew a fear only a Vulcan could truly understand. _'Control...'_ He repeated, closing his eyes tightly, trying to visualize his meditation flame in his mind. _'I am Vulcan. Control is my birthright, attainable through simple discipline. Control! It is not my time!'_ He reminded himself, the mantra running through his mind with comforting familiarity, reassuring him in his moment of illogical fear, fear that his unresolved _Ponn Farr_ had returned, prompted by the scorching of his blood.

He came back to himself suddenly when his ears detected the wrenching shriek of metal. He pulled away from the door abruptly, as if burned, retreating back into his cabin with a quick step and turning from the door with a muffled sense of shame before he pulled his control around him like a calming cloak as the five finger indent of his clenched fingers mocked him from the frame, the dents sunk deep into the alloy, standing out like a perverse kind of decoration, a hallmark to his shame.

A/N: _'Aitlu'_: The Vulcan word for 'desire'. _'Aitlu'_: The Vulcan word for 'want'.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer:** I don't not own Star Trek or any of it's characters. Do you THINK I would be here If I did?! So I do not in any way shape or form own any of the plot or the characters. They belong to whoever owns 'em. I just took the general idea for a test jaunt. So, don't sue me...not that it would be beneficial, as I am a poor university student, yadda yadda yadda.

**Authors Note #1:** This story was inspired by the Star Trek Voyager episode: "Twisted", which was the twenty-second episode in the first season. I liked the idea of some outside force moving rooms and decks about like the 'Spatial distortion' did to Voyager in that episode. Is it just me or does anyone else realize the deliciously naughty possibilities that could result?

**Authors Note #2:** This is a tame Spock and McCoy slash boys and girls, so count yourselves as warned. Why Spock and McCoy you ask? Well, other then the fact that they are both undeniably delicious, it is simply this, no two people who argue **that** much, **all** the time, about virtually **nothing** cannot **not** have a love on for the other. Thats my reasoning anyway. Pah! Like anyone really needs an excuse to slash them together anyway!?

Please read and review. I am excited to see what you all think. I am open to comments, advice, and constructive criticism.

**What A Hand Towel Can't Hide – 'Privacy locks and Just a drop of Good Old Kentucky ****Bourbon'**

His hands almost shook as he thumbed the door closed, the only outwardly noticeable sign that belated his exhaustion and stressed frame of mind. But despite it all his stubborn pride was rooted deep and therefore it wasn't until he had keyed in his privacy code that he allowed himself a relieved sigh, slumping against the cool metal of the nearest wall as he felt the full extent of his exhaustion nearly overwhelm him.

Kneading his knuckles into his tired lids he caught sight of himself in a nearby mirror. "Your getting too old for this Leonard old boy." He told himself sarcastically, eying the scruffy, tousled-haired stranger that smirked back at him.

Grimacing he surveyed the damage up close, his fingers tracing the dark circles under his lids with a practiced eye. He snorted at his reflection, he doubted he had had such bags under his eyes since his final year of medical school, where his degree had been hard won with many sleepless nights, and double credit class loads.

His fingers scrapped roughly across his cheeks, following the thick expanse of coarse, light-brown stubble that covered his chin and cheeks. And he didn't even have to investigate further then giving himself a slight sniff to know he didn't entirely like the way he smelled either.

All in all his was sure he had seen corpses that looked better. Shaking his head he crossed into his bedroom, grumbling for a moment as he peeled off his grimy shirt. Taking a moment to relish the sensation of being bare-chested after nearly three days in the same uniform, enjoying the cool air against his skin.

He had always found something incredibly freeing about shedding his uniform after a long day of work, and walking around in the privacy of his quarters half-nude. After all Christine didn't tease him every now and again of being a bit of a caveman for nothing. When the topic came up he would always counter her ribbing with a wide grin, proclaiming proudly that he simply enjoyed his humanity. It gave Spock something to think about at any rate.

His head nurse and close friend always did have a quick wit and a sharp intellect, and he always eagerly anticipated their debates. Christine was one of the few people who never let him get comfortable on his high horse, so to speak, and he was always grateful when she would step in and take him down a peg or two when he needed it. Their debates were nothing at all like 'arguing' with Spock, he mused as he stalked over to the Landry chute, banishing the foul smelling garment to a good cleaning.

Debating with Spock was like talking to the ships computer. It had all the right answers, but the passion of the debate, the one part he held so highly sometimes didn't hold the same spark. Not to mention that most of the time they both frustrated him to the point of tearing his hair out.

"The green-blooded, computerized hobgoblin!" He muttered in frustration as he found all his problems, and all his stress over what had occurred between them on the Bridge came rushing back at the mere suggestion of the Vulcan's name.

He shook his head firmly but his traitorous thoughts remained. _'For heavens sake! You his bloody doctor! One of his best friends!'_ He thought harshly, stomping over to a cabinet near his desk, suddenly feeling a great need for a good old fashioned 'pick-me-up'.

While the cabinet door slammed open, taking the brunt of his foul temper, he slid the half empty, brown frosted bottle out delicately, almost reverently as he poured himself a shot glass full. Swirling the potent liquor slightly to release the rich heady scent, and he paused only a moment before downing the contents in a single gulp.

Welcoming the familiar numbing burn he closed his eyes for a moment in contentment, smacking his lips appreciatively as the heated warmth seeped into his belly. "Just what the doctor ordered." He chuckled, pouring himself another healthy measure as he made his way over to the couch, propping his feet on the small coffee table as he sipped from the glass more sparingly this time.

However, even the Kentucky Bourbon could not cloud the truth tonight. For all his years of deluding himself, of burying his feelings deep under the ties of friendship and professionalism, it took only one ill-fated tumble on the deck plating to bring it all back.

He would be damned before he would admit it of course, but as the years had worn on, that tentative toleration of the Vulcan had slowly evolved. With grudging respect turning to friendship till the man was such a potent center in his life that thought of life without him somehow seemed dull and wonderless.

Their arguments and constant ribbing had become a unique trademark of their friendship, and he had come to relish their battle of wills, no matter how frustrated the half-human man might make him. And he knew for a fact that Spock enjoyed them as well, no matter how illogical they might be. The man had even started his fair share! Grinning slightly he remembered as he threw a shielding arm over his eyes, soothing his tired eyes from the light as his lips sought the rim of his glass again.

But then, quite suddenly his feelings for the Vulcan had abruptly changed...evolving past a comfortable friendship, and on into stranger, less stable territories. He wasn't exactly sure when the change had occurred, but he did remember when he first became aware of it. It had began innocently, as these things so often do, and this time they had been in Sick bay, where he had been conducting the first officers quarterly physical.

His orderlies, nurses, and even Christine had all scurried elsewhere, getting well out of the line of fire as they scented trouble on the horizon, the Sick bay suddenly becoming miraculously empty as they began an argument so fiery it promised to put their usual fair to shame. He snorted in amusement as he remembered, downing the rest of his drink, and running a hand through his ruffled hair as he looked wistfully at the bottle across the room from him, debating whether he should get up and retrieve it or not.

But the comfortable allure of his present location eventually won out and he opted to stay put, twirling his glass around in his hand so it caught the light as he thought back.

If he hadn't known any better he could have sworn that the Vulcan had been acting difficult on purpose. He questioned his every request and comment, challenging his technique and even proclaiming to be capable of self-diagnosing himself. But the straw that had truly broken the camels back, and not to mention his temper was his refusal to remove his thermal undershirt.

Sitting up on the bio-bed in only his long-sleeved undershirt and his trousers the damnable pest had arched his brow, and fixed him with a piercing yet expressionless stare. "My undershirt doctor? I fail to see the logic behind disrobing when your instruments can detect any anomalies through the fabric." He had stated stoically to his request. He had sighed and rolled his eyes recognizing the beginning overture of an old argument between them, well aware that Spock knew his reasoning already.

"Emotionless Vulcan my ass." He muttered aloud with a ghost of a fond smile as he tugged off his boots and socks letting them stay where they fell as he massaged his sore toes. From there the argument had predictably spiraled downward until he had blown his top and swooped over to the Vulcan, invading his personal space with a calculated maneuver designed to make the prude man uncomfortable.

"Now listen here you over grown, pointy-eared jack-rabbit!" He began, his hands resting at either side of the sitting mans thighs, so close to him their noses were nearly touching, so close he could actually smell the spicy, and strangely exotic scents that made up the Vulcan's unique smell. "I am your physician, and the way I go about my diagnosis is of no concern to you. Now, unless you have a medical degree equal to mine and wish to challenge the way I do things in **my** Sick bay, shut the hell up, stop wasting my time, and take off that damn shirt before I tear it off myself!" He hissed.

The silence had been nearly palpable, with both of them shocked into silence as the full impact of his words suddenly occurred to both of them. He had felt his face flush, and he had quickly stepped away from the Vulcan, crossing his arms to avoid the temptation to fidget in his embarrassment.

After a moment however Spock left him virtually open mouthed in astonishment when he deliberately caught his eye, and with a momentarily arched brow he slowly, ever so slowly peeled off the shirt so that inch by inch his dusky olive-hued skin had been revealed until he pulled it over his head, leaving his usually sleek and immaculate hair tousled and sticking up. And then with eyes he had sworn were twinkling with amusement, the taller man had cocked his head and given him a nod. "I defer to your judgment Doctor." And then had looked over at him expectantly, innocently even!

The likely unintentionally erotic move had left him gaping like a catfish out of water, struck utterly speechless by his bodies reaction to the move. He remembered how a heated bolt of arousal had arrowed down to strike his groin enveloping his brain in a momentary cloud of sexual tension and desire. It had been only a few seconds, but even as he quickly collected himself and turned awake to grab his scanner he knew Spock had noticed his tension, the man had probably even detected an increase in his heart rate. But at the time he had simply prayed the man would take it as a normal side effect of the heated argument.

He had called it an early day after that, not even breaking his quick paced stride as he entered his quarters, not halting till he had reached his liquor cabinet and had poured himself a double shot of whiskey, his brain and gut alike twisting into knots. The next few days and nights had been pure torture, with erotic dreams haunting his sleep and the mere proximity of the man during the day bringing the memories back unbidden to his mind as fresh as if they had just occurred.

However he had never allowed the attraction to evolve further, shrouding his feelings under a covering blanket of snarky comments and feigned grudging toleration of the man. Donning the mask and acting the part wasn't something that came difficult to him. For his entire life he had presented the world with what many assumed was his heart and passions on his sleeves, appearing to be exactly as he acted, a fiery, passionate, acid-tongued charmer.

And while that much was true, it wasn't all of him, it was a front he put up to keep people from soul-searching too deep. It kept people appeased, thinking they knew him and it afforded him his secrets. He had hid those feelings so deep and so well that he had almost succeeded in convincing himself it had simply been a strange isolated incident borne of exhaustion or the inhalation of one to many lab chemicals.

Until today that is... And while knew he was no kind naive fool, he couldn't quite shake the feeling, nor could he bring himself to wholly discount, that for a moment...for a brief second, he could have sworn he saw the same twin expression of longing...of desire reflecting back at him in those dark brown almond eyes.

But he just couldn't..He just couldn't believe it his feelings were returned..Because for as much as he achieved, no matter how many diseases he cured or lives he saved, for all his bluster, pride and mule-like determination...for so many years now, there were times when he looked inside himself and found himself wanting.

And that was his greatest fear, the fear of being discovered, of people finding out that the great Leonard McCoy, trusted CMO and friend of James T. Kirk himself, the fearless and tenacious doctor of the USS Enterprise, a man who had held his own in more fire-fights then anyone had a right to be in and had saved so many lives he had lost count, was a fraud. Because for all the faith others had in him, he could rarely see cause for it in himself. That is why he always found it so ironic that people sought him out with their prob;ems, their issues... The universe, it seemed was not without a sense of humor.

Sometimes he swore his insecurities could eat him alive. Eat him up and leave nothing but weakness behind.

His greatest fear in essence, was himself. Of failing those who counted on him, loved him, and of failing to live up to his own expectations. He supposed that was why his marriage had failed, and why his long term relationships always seemed to fizzle out in the end, left to simply wither and die like that last out of reach peach, left forgotten to moulder on it's branch in the bright summer sun. When it came down to it they all seemed to end for the same reason...because he didn't feel he deserved the passion, the love, nor the devotion his lovers had so freely give him. He feared letting anyone know him too closely, lest they discover the whole man behind the facade of openness.

He shook his head, mentally berating himself for indulging in such moping, idly picking at a stray thread sticking out of the arm rest. He only got so introspective when he was exhausted. _'Nothing a drop of the good stuff won't cure.'_ He told himself as he eyed the whiskey bottle from across the room speculatively.

But regardless, despite his feelings he knew he was no fool, nor coward, he simply wouldn't put up with such nonsense. He was aware that for many, insecurities were what kept peoples ego's from bursting. He simply had a hard time escaping from his own. He supposed it was going to be something of a life's project, to accept himself as he was he thought with a grim smile.

"Ah well...We all have our faults.." He muttered aloud as he got to his feet and firmly grasped the half-full bottle, bringing it to his lips without preamble, abandoning his glass without a second thought as he took a hearty swig, grinning as he let his mind wander.

For example, while Jim might be the studmeister of the known universe, he couldn't maintain a relationship to save his golden-hued arse! Nor keep his nose out of trouble for that matter. Christine? Well the poor girl seemed to always set herself up for heartbreak, falling in love with men who had deep-freezes for hearts. Sulu's had to be his ambitions. While he found such determination admirable, he sometimes got the impression that in the meantime the man was missing out on life, skipping over those little experiences in life that made it all worth living.

Scotty was an easy one to define. The man was too damned attached to his machines and to his engines then to the flesh of a good woman. He had seen the man miss many the opportunity to share a warm bed with an interested woman, not even realizing the opportunity had passed him by when his head was too full of warp theories and reworking plasma circuits. Uhura was a tougher nut to crack, as despite all their years together the chocolate skinned beauty was nearly as much a mystery to him as she was the day they had met. However, he did know that if she did have a fault it was an innocent one. The girl put too much of herself into her relationships, and inevitably some devil would come along and break her heart, leaving her with naught to do but sweep up the broken pieces.

And Chevok, well the boy was still just a pup, still amazing them all with his wide-eyed wonder. He remembered the the young man's first day aboard, the boy had still had the apprehensive look of a child who had just been freshly torn from his mothers apron strings. Unsure but determined. He supposed he couldn't find fault in him for youth, but the young man had still not lost the naivety of his tender years. Something that while precious, unfortunately had no place on a Starship.

_'And finally...Spock.'_ He pondered with a grin, wriggling on the couch a bit as he settled in more comfortably, adjusting his pants minutely as he did so. _'Now with Spock he could definitely spin a good yarn.'_ He thought wickedly. But perhaps when it all came down to it, he could separate it all into one real reason.

That while he wasn't one to comment on the nature of a man's heritage and how he conducted himself...After all it wasn't his business. But for some reason the fact that the man had chosen to entirely abandon the human side of his heritage had always seemed to rub him the wrong way.

Maybe it was because he relished his humanity so much that knowing that someone who had the opportunity to explore it had never bothered to give it a chance. Most of the time Spock treated emotions and feelings like a disease, something that was to be shunned or corrected. Oh there was that odd time that his expressionless Vulcan facade would crumble...revealing just the slightest hint of emotion, like a ghost of humor flitting across his face, unable to hold it in after one of Jim's or even his own antics. But that was merely irregular at best.

Privately he had always felt that the man was selling himself short by not even attempting to find a balance between his two natures, feeling as though regardless of what the man might believe, that by ignoring and suppressing his human half he was missing an integral part of himself.

And for a moment he amused himself by pondering the fact that the man might be deluding himself just as he was, because of a sense of pride and determination (thought he would never admit it of course) that was likely a rival to his own. "Vulcans!" He snorted despairingly.

_'But on second thought...'_ He mused, brushing a tired hand across his face._ 'If he had to have his own faults, at least he was in good company!'_ He thought with a smile, almost chuckling aloud at the thought.

The tortured shriek of bending mental effectively tore him from his thoughts as the unearthly noise caused him to start in surprise.

"What the devil!?" He groaned, grunting in disgust as he wrenched himself off the couch. Stomping over to the door, mad enough to do battle. _'If some wet-behind-the-ears crewman is choosing now of all times to do repairs on command crew quarters I am going to rip him a new one!' _ He thought viciously, stabbing the unlock and stepping out of his door, head swiveling to locate his target, entirely forgetting he was half naked.

But there was no repair crew, in fact he never did figure out what caused the banshee-like noise. Instead he emerged into the hall just in time to catch the back end of none other then his current tormentor striding into his own cabin just two doors down, his sleek cap of dark hair glinting in the brightly lit corridor for a moment before his doors swished closed, leaving him alone in the hall in nothing but his trousers.

His surge of anger deflated almost as fast as it had flared up, and he quickly stepped back into his rooms, cursing himself throughly as he felt his neck flush, the blush crawling steadily up his face regardless of his colorful words.

_'Lord! Get a grip man!'_ He admonished himself sternly. _'Your acting like some love struck school boy passing his first crush!'_ He thought with a slightly bitter grin, rubbing at the sudden aroused tingle in his arms, smoothing his hands down the light brown tan and the soft smattering of freckles that flecked his skin.

God help him, he was in love with a Vulcan...A Vulcan for mercy's sake! "Well Len, you have certainly gotten yourself into a pickle this time." He muttered, thinking deeply as he stood in the in the middle of his quarters, the bottle of Kentucky made Whiskey sitting forgotten at the side of the couch.

_'Well you old fool, you best put it out of your mind...because you know well enough that nothing is going to come of it...So straighten yourself up and get your rear in gear!' _He admonished himself sternly, trying without much success to banish the sleek, graceful Vulcan from his mind.

For a few long and unfruitful moments, he looked up, unfolding his crossed arms, shaking his head he accepted defeat. _'Just what I need..'_ He thought with a sigh, rolling his eyes to the ceiling as he huffed in frustration. _'A Vulcan on the brain!'_


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer:** I don't not own Star Trek or any of it's characters. Do you THINK I would be here if I did?! So I do not in any way shape or form own any of the plot or the characters. They belong to whoever owns 'em. I just took the general idea for a test jaunt. So, don't sue me...not that it would be beneficial, as I am a poor university student, yadda yadda yadda.

**Authors Note:** I want to thank all my reviewers so far. Firstly, you all rock! Your comments, advise, and indeed praise has helped me immensely in the writing of this next chapter. Please continue to tell me your thoughts, and feed this starving writer!

**Also: I would like to thank Kamyan! My brand spanking new Beta! This is her first chapter of editing; any further mistakes are mine and mine alone. Give her a hand folks because I certainly pulled her through the paces!**

**What A Hand Towel Can't Hide – Stoking the Fire Pot**

Once safely inside his rooms he leaned against the uncomfortably cool expanse of the locked doors of his quarters. For the first time in all his time serving aboard the _Enterprise_ he actually welcomed the cooler temperature of the bulkhead on his back as the frigid chill seeped into his skin, serving to cool his burning blood, sharpening his attention back to the present. After a brief moment he repressed a shiver as he lurched himself upright, setting down his tricorder at his desk, and pausing at the console at his desk to set his rooms on privacy mode.

Decided in his course he set off across the room to his meditation area, preparing both himself and the space for activity. And as he did so he noted unconsciously that his movements were far more hurried then was his habit, as if a second more would be just a second too long. Once settled in the action he hardly even paused, he didn't take a moment to disrobe and cleanse himself, nor did he attire himself in the proper meditation robes. A clear sign of his unsettled frame of mind.

Instead he crossed directly to his fire pot, stoking the mouldering embers into a healthy roaring blaze, and kneeling on his mats he added a generous measure of incense, breathing in the strong scents of home as the fragrant smoke twisted and twirled in the air about him, gradually fading and mixing in with the recycled air, the smoke thinned and disappeared, but the calming smell remained, serving to further focus his thoughts.

Immediately he felt a measure of order and tranquility descend over his troubled mind, his concentration aided by the familiarity of the action, acting like a soothing balm spread over an open sore. Breathing deeply he positioned himself before the flame, steepling his fingers as he assumed the first position, readying himself for the first level of reflection. And as the hours trickled slowly past, as the frenzied activity of a Star ship in distress continued all around him, he sifted carefully through his own memories, reliving those moments throughout their years serving together as a passive, non-corporeal observer within the confines of his own mind.

It was there in his own mind, where he realized just how deeply he had deluded himself. He had buried those moments, those passing half-realized, fledging thoughts so deeply and so well that he had barely been aware of it. But now, now he re-examined every single moment, every look, every touch, and he realized something he had thought himself entirely incapable of...He realized affection...He realized something his mother had only ever whispered to him in his tender years, and held for him unspoken in her eyes as he grew. He had discovered the Vulcan equivalent of what humans called _love_.

To a Vulcan it was nothing that could be so easily defined; indeed such things were rarely verbalized. It was something much more basic, more instinctual, something deeply rooted in the Vulcan psyche. And while his father had never spoken of it, never fully explains his reasons, for the first time in all his years, he suddenly fully understood why his father had married his mother. Why he had chosen a young human woman for his mate over all the females on Vulcan. And in some ultimately bizarre way, he realized the logic behind it...behind the _feeling_.

He came to realize that the connection between them had been forged from their very first meeting, sparking to life much like the way Leonard's eyes had lit up when he had deliberately matched the man's arguments and fuelled the fire for their very first feud before they had barely stepped out of the shuttle hangar. That blue-eyed, smooth-tongued physician, whose light rolling accent had given him a most uniquely new twist on the humans native tongue had intrigued him from the beginning, and had continued to do so ever since. As Jim so often put it, 'There was never a dull moment when they were together.'

He panned through all those fleetingly intimate moments as well, and he realized quite suddenly how often they touched. Those innocently casual touches...A brush on the shoulder in the hall, maybe a clap on the back in the mess hall, or a supporting arm around the waist when injured, a touch that was far to intimate to be merely a friendly gesture. And he had welcomed them...even initiated them. Their frequent touches now became the realization of hidden affection, affection that had seeped out in the guise of friendship, but had lingered a mere moment too long.

And as the memories continued he realized that it wasn't simply comradeship and logic that had spurred them, they had both repeatedly displayed their feelings throughout the years, showing it nearly daily in their interactions. Their arguments? Purely passionate flirtation, a hidden joy that had slowly evolved throughout the years as they both came to find someone who from the very beginning had refused to shrink from a challenge or a formable reputation and had proved a near match to the other at every turn. The subtle flirtation they had so often engaged in now seemed so blatantly obvious it nearly shocked him.

He realized that in spite of it all, no matter how heated and scathing their arguments might end, they always consistently gravitated towards each other. Both professionally and casually seeking each other out, maybe just to play a game of chess, to have a quick lunch, or even begin a scientific project together...

More then once it had been McCoy that had been downright possessive and demanding when it came down to him. Jealously guarding him at many a turn. He saw now that the man's well meant teasing and jokes had been a way to try and forge a connection between him and the rest of the crew. To show him, in his own strangely illogical, but effective way that whatever his race, human or Vulcan, he belonged there.

He realized now that the Doctor had always taken care of his physicals and medical appointments himself, knowing how private and uncomfortable he was when under medical care. He was also the first doctor that had ever raised the temperature of the Sickbay unprompted, suffering under temperatures that he no doubt felt as overbearingly hot to accommodate his patient's preference. And again it was often Leonard who came knocking at his door whenever he 'sensed trouble on the wind'...and even when he didn't, until it became such a constant aspect of his life that he illogically came to miss it when it sometimes ceased. It was also usually McCoy that badgered him into attending crew gatherings, and taking part in shore leave, always there with the suggestion….wheedling and fighting commendably for every inch he gained.

It was Leonard too that had at many times stood up to near impossible odds solely to protect him. Vehement and ferocious in the heat of the moment as he would hover above him, shielding him and defending him from attack as he more often then not lay injured below him, safe beneath the humans spread legs. One time came foremost to his mind as he delved deeper into his memories. It had been a standard year since the away mission, but the memory was as clear as if it had been freshly made.

The Doctor and himself had been paired together to collect a number of biological samples of the local flora and fauna on the previously unexplored planet MX149, the sole 'M' class planet in the binary star system at the far reaches of the Neutral zone's borders. And while an extensive scan of the planet had indicated a lack of humanoid inhabitants, a few short hours into their collection they were unexplainably ambushed by a primitive band of natives, likely a hunting party that had been shadowing them for sometime.

Even he had been caught unawares, not even hearing their approach from behind them until they had actually made their presence known. It happened suddenly, with the small lake-side clearing literally exploded into churning atmosphere of chaos, as the natives appeared as if from no where, sprinting at them from out of a tall swath of grassy reeds as if they had sprung out from the very earth itself, the water echoing their eerie cries across the mountainous valley basin. He had had just enough warning to grab the Doctor by the elbow, yanking him up and to his feet from where he had been kneeling on the sandy ground, collecting yet another soil sample. And with that they were up and running in a dead sprint, halfway across the clearing and to a rocky collection of boulders before the tan-clothed natives had even passed the bordering edge of the marsh.

But they had soon discovered that their apparent good fortune was actually a calculated move by their attackers, using the now unhindered view of them both to implement their remarkably effective weapon; a sedative-tipped blow dart. The dart meant for McCoy had missed by what the doctor referred to as 'good old fashioned Gregorian luck', missing him by only millimetres as he had moved at the last second, weaving to avoid a mouldering tree trunk in his path. He however had only had time to half turn at the strange sound of the dart leaving the rim of the device before he struck him squarely in the back, the shock of the drug to his system taking him down hard.

He lay face down on the ground, somehow unable to move his limbs as he tried to draw the planets cloyingly thick air into his shocked lungs, his body and brain immediately attempting to counter the powerful sedative. Spitting out a mouthful of dirt his dimming hearing only just caught the Doctors loud curse, barely feeling the dust and rocks that blew around him as the doctor managed an impressive about face and slid back to him, his boots skidding around the sandy gravel.

"Spock! Spock!" He cried, his tricorder already whirling about him as his felt the slightest of pinches as the colourfully tipped dart was plucked quickly from his flesh, the thin needle-like tip still dripping with a few bright green pearls of his blood. "Go! Doctor! Go!" He had ordered, his voice husky as speaking became difficult. But the doctor made no move to flee, and instead he flipped him over on his back, his body half supported in an upright position across the Doctors chest, a firm hand wrapped about his waist as check the his vitals.

"Like Hell I will!" He replied, cursing as he looked up, alert to the natives position despite his charge, his lightly tanned arms wrenching off his tricorder and grasping his phaser tightly, setting the force to stun as his bright eyes blazed a dark, ice blue- midnight from above him, his mouth set with a line of determination he had never before seen the Doctor wear. It was in that moment, that he had reaffirmed a long held suspicion that the Doctor was not someone to be trifled with.

Leaping up, he halted the natives in their tracks with a ear-drum shattering yell, drawing himself up to his full height in order to make himself look all the more imposing. To his credit the natives slowed, observing the possibility of harm from this new and unexpected threat. But they were not so easily deterred, and instead fanned out their full number till they had arranged themselves in a lop-sided semi-circle as they slowly advanced, the one who was undoubtedly the leader headed the group, a rather vicious looking sickle-shaped bone blade held firmly in his formable grip.

Each man was nearly twice his height and bulk, and he very much doubted that even the Captain himself wouldn't have been able to take even one in-hand-to-hand combat. But the Doctor refused to back down, entirely ignoring his orders as he took up a protective stance above him, a leg spread on either side of him, his phaser raised and ready.

The leader answered his challenge, letting loose a roar that would have rivalled a fully grown male Selat, a fully grown **wild** Selat at that. And he paused as his companions let out a chorus of answering heckles, clearly spurring their leader on. There was a rather pregnant pause as the natives advanced again, but Leonard very quickly made his decision and with a flourish he raised his phaser to the sky and let off a quick, harmless beam into the air, obviously hoping to frighten them off.

And the move partially worked, sending most of the rest of the group packing, howling in fright back into the marshes from where they came. But the leader and a single other man had remained, paused a mere few short meters from their position, their fright clear, but their countenance not as easily beaten. With a threatening noise the leader advanced a quick step, slicing the air belligerently with his blade, his companion doing the same at his side with a straight-edged weapon.

With a muttered curse the doctor visibly steeled himself for something, his action remaining a mystery to him till the moment he moved, the Doctor moving too fast to heed his muffled exclamation. And with his shoulders hunched, his entire body braced on a knifes edge, he launched out from his position above him with remarkable speed, yelling himself hoarse as he fired nearly point-blank at the leader, the man coming so close to him that even a meter away he could smell the natives perspiration, he could even smell of the rank scent of the dark animal pelt he wore.

The man crumpled to the ground with a cut off groan, the impact of his body jarring the very earth he lay on, sending a thick cloud of dust and dirt swirling through the air with the force of his landing, his companion skittering away with a cry as he launched himself back the way he came, his naked heels slamming into the hard-packed dirt as he nearly flew across the clearing.

"Why doctor, I had no idea you were such a formable opponent." He had wheezed after a few seconds of absolute silence, forcing the words through his mouth with considerable effort as his tongue refused to work. The phrase nearly ruined by his inability to raise his customary eyebrow. However, the doctor didn't seem to hear him, cursing soundly under his breath as he stalked back from the unconscious humanoid, breathing hard and shaking his head as he rooted through the fur-lined pouch he had unclipped from the leaders huge waist.

"Doctor, may I remind you that-." But he hadn't even had a chance to finish before the doctor had swooped down and cut him off. "And Mister Spock, do I have to remind **you** that as your **Medical **superior, and friendly star-ship physician, I have the final say in **all** medical matters!" He replied icily, his tone softened by a nearly full-blown grin on his face. "Now, I decided upon what I viewed as the correct course of treatment for you, and therefore your authority over me is null and void!" He declared with a grin as he bounced on the balls of his feet, undoubtedly pleased with himself as he viewed the argument as won.

"I do not see how risking your life to save my own, and quite likely perishing in the attempt instead of signalling for help could be classified as a 'treatment' Doctor." He replied, stiffly as the Doctor once again leaned him up on his chest as he ran the medical scanner over him, the device whirling noisily in the relative quiet of the clearing. The doctor however only grinned down at him mockingly, before turning Spock so his eyes could follow his movements. "Why then Spock, I do declare, that if I had let you off to your own devices, I wouldn't have gotten this would I?!" He replied with a pleased smile, a squat bottle of clear crystalline-like powder sitting in the palm of his hand. "Your treatment Mister Spock...**Your **treatment."

And while he had faded in and out of consciousness during that time, the sedative in the dart obviously struggling to completely overcome his more resilient physiology, he remembered those moments with perfect clarity. And he entertained the idea that even the doctor had likely not even been consciously aware of his actions. His long buried, primitive humanity unconsciously fuelling his struggle for the protection of a mate. In some ways he mused, the primitive man, and the primitive Vulcan were a remarkably similar creature.

But he also found that throughout the years he had been no less as unconsciously protective. He was no longer blind to all the times he had put himself in front of the Doctor, protecting him instinctively even on a standard away mission, his attention nearly every time aware, at least at some level of where the man was. He had always been alert and watchful; often pulling him out of a danger he himself had barely a moment to fully analyze, as instinct spurred his limbs to action.

He relived the moments on that Earth-like planet where they had met the child Miri and cured the remaining populace of the terrible disease that lay dormant in the 'children' till puberty. In the end he relived the moment when the Doctor had injected himself with the serum, not willing to risk testing it on the others unless it didn't work, sacrificing himself in the hope that they had developed the cure. And he remembered again how the only word that had escaped from those tortured lips had been his own name. He had called for him. For **him**. And he once again watched from observing from through his own eyes the way he had held those slender fingered hands to the doctor's chest, feeling their quiet strength as they were fully enveloped in his own in an entirely new way.

And he saw again these past three years with newly opened eyes. And as the memories refused to cease, replaying through the history of his thoughts, they filled his mind with a new kind of certainty and an entirely new sense of understanding. A new understanding of both himself, and of the Doctor.

It was hours later when he finally emerged from his mind, attaining full consciousness with only a light shake as he unfolded himself from his stiff posture, paring down the incense and restoking the fire until the red drapes that decorated his quarters danced with the shadows of the fires flickering flames.

It was all utterly and completely clear to him now. He desired Leonard, he needed him, wanted him. It was both an instinctual yearning and a physiological realization. Despite his half-Vulcanian blood and McCoy's humanness, he knew. Now both consciously and unconsciously that Leonard was his bondmate, his hearts-mate. The sensation was so very different from when he had been bonded with T'Pring, he was not yet even bonded with Leonard but already he felt more of a connection with the Georgian-born doctor then he and T'Pring had ever shared. And he knew implicitly that this feeling was one Leonard shared in kind for him.

Logic dictated he go seek out the man immediately, to share with him his mind, and have the connection between them forged, to become bonded and complete. But yet he hesitated, it was illogical, yet he did it nonetheless. Leonard was human and therefore such a ...sensitive affair required a different degree of handling. And he had to admit he was unsure of just how to approach the tousled haired doctor with such a thing. Humans always contained a degree of unknown in them, the emotions they experienced often following no logically discernable course and because of that he felt a sense of irrational uncertainty.

Would McCoy accept this? Would he fully desire and understand this connection? This nearly unexplainable bond they shared? And how much more they could share? Fully straightening, he kept his hands busy as he fastidiously rolled up his mediation mats, automatically placing fresh fuel bricks in the roaring pot as he problematized the issue. '_Indeed_, _Just how did one go about truly 'romancing'_ _a human?'_

Finally he resigned himself to the fact that he needed to mediate further on the next logical step in resolving this matter. However he knew there were a few matters that required his attention first. And with a few sure movements he shed his uniform, feeling the customary flush steal across his chest, with the lightest of green flushes gracing his flesh as his body responded to the near equal warmth of his quarters, the temperatures of his native home.

He required a shower and rest, then, after which, when fully alert, the way to proceed might become clearer to him. And with that thought, he set off across his rooms for the bathroom, his mind already focused on the task at hand, but despite himself, his heart wandered, shadowing a door only two rooms away…


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer:** I don't not own Star Trek or any of it's characters. Do you THINK I would be here if I did?! So I do not in any way shape or form own any of the plot or the characters. They belong to whoever owns 'em. I just took the general idea for a test jaunt. So, don't sue me...not that it would be beneficial, as I am a poor university student, yadda yadda yadda.

**Authors Note:** I want to thank all my reviewers so far. Firstly, you all rock! Your comments, advise, and indeed praise has helped me immensely in the writing of this next chapter. Please continue to tell me your thoughts, and feed this starving writer!

**Also****: I would like to thank Kamyan! My brand spanking new Beta! This is her second chapter of editing; any further mistakes are mine and mine alone. Give her a hand folks, she is awesome!**

**What A Hand Towel Can't Hide – Peach Cobbler and Old Guitar Strings**

A muffled thump and a scathing curse from the quarters next to McCoy's woke him suddenly, his habitually light sleep cycle coming back to haunt him once again as his brain became instantly alert. An old habit tempered through too many years of being the doctor on-call, ready to respond to any emergency that could be possibly thrown at him in a matter of mere seconds, usually something quite unique and obscure if Spock and Jim had anything to do with it. Sometimes he swore those two got into trouble on purpose. Vulcans and Captains! Sometimes he couldn't tell which was worse!

Cracking open a tired lid he noted the dimmed lights and the soft hum of the heating unit. The computer must have automatically lowered the lighting and switched the temperature to his preferred heat setting when it had registered his lowered vitals. **It** must have because he certainly didn't remember even having fallen asleep. _A computer with common courtesy? What's next?_ He snorted in derision.

Cursing soundly, he levelled himself stiffly off the couch, sleepily stretching his sore muscles, and wincing as his bones popped and groaned, adamantly protesting the strange positions he had somehow contorted himself into during his admittedly refreshing cat-nap. _'Blast it! I should have known I would hit the hay if I sat back down again..'_ He thought tiredly as he tugged the waist band of his pants back around his hips.

"Damn." He muttered, bending backwards as he arched his back, wiggling his toes into the carpet as he stretched. 'I _really need to send a strongly worded letter to Fleet command about these infernal couches!'_ He thought with a grimace. They were akin to medieval torture devices! And it would be **just** his luck if the damn things gave him muscle spasms.

Eying the chronometer he was vaguely surprised to realize that despite the uncomfortable couch he had slept for over six hours. But, when he thought about it, he figured he likely had the soothing effects of Kentucky's finest to thank for that. _'Just what the doctor ordered indeed.' _He thought with a chuckle.

Rolling the stiffness out of his neck he crossed the room, still only in his trousers, as he ordered a glass of water and a sandwich from the small replicator, attacking his long awaited meal with gusto, for once not noticing the lack of crispness in the lettuce, or how the replicator didn't quite get the texture of the tomato innards just right. He was hungry damnit, and when you were **that** hungry even computer synthesized cuisine tasted nearly as good as Mama's home-cooked grub.

After a few moments of internal debate he gave into temptation and ordered a generous dish of peach cobbler as well. He **was** a good old fashioned Georgian boy after all! He nearly hummed in pleasure as the sweet desert delighted his taste buds, the taste making him grin as he remembered the first time he had conned Spock into trying a bite of his favourite desert. He had thought the Vulcan's pointy ears would pop clear off!

It had been at the cultural diversity themed celebration Uhura had thrown for the crew a while back, another well meant attempt to raise crew moral during the mission. And in fact, like virtually all her parties, the entire thing had been a smashing success. Nearly all the crew had gotten into the spirit of things, all coming together to pitch in and help her with the food, music, and decorations that herald from virtually every earth and Vulcan culture that the Communications beauty could think of. And while Spock had never let on, he knew the so-called 'unfeeling' Vulcan had been secretly 'pleased', or however the computerized goblin would choose describe it, at being included.

He himself had done his own part gladly, actually sending her his mothers own home-made recipe for Peach Cobbler, a renown McCoy family dish. His mother had always joked that it was due to that recipe alone that she had lassoed his father, through his stomach. Even he had to admit, that if he knew his mother, it had probably not been that subtle either.

In fact, as it happened, he had ended up doing far more then his fair part for the little gathering! He still wasn't exactly sure how, but somehow he had been duped into performing a soft guitar-style duet with Yeoman Rishka. Her sweet Californian accent somehow melding in perfectly with his soft Georgian purr, as they treated the crew to a good old fashioned southern folk-song.

The whole fiasco had only served to further strengthen his belief that it was virtually impossible to hide anything from a Communications officer as thorough as Uhura. Because lord knew it had been over four years since he had even so much as picked up a guitar, let alone played one. However, despite the length of time he had been away from the strings and knobs of his old piece, he had ended up surprising even himself when his fingers had instantly remembered. Even Spock had seemed impressed... high praise indeed.

Afterwards while everyone was mingling, sampling all the different selections of goodies available, he in true fashion had managed to wheedle Spock into sampling some of the cobbler. From the other side of the room, he had spied the solitary Vulcan sulking in a far corner, nearly hidden amidst the elaborate South African themed section, inspecting the intricate bead-work of a particularly festive native arm-band. Flashing the man a grin, he had crossed the room to join him, bouncing on the balls of his feet in good humour, two small dishes of the delectable treat his hand.

"Spock! Fancy meeting you here." He drawled in greeting, sending him an amused wink as he joined him at the display pedestal. For a moment, he could have sworn the man looked positively indignant. His hands posed stoically behind his back as he turned to face him, his eyebrow raised just a fraction of a millimetre higher then usual. "I find your apparent surprise to see me rather difficult to believe Doctor. As it was purely due to **your**...insistence that I attended this gathering." He replied, eying the two dishes he held with a guarded expression.

"Well it worked didn't it?" He had retorted smugly, pressing a dish of cobbler into the Vulcan's nearest hand. "Here! I saved you a bowl, they are being gobbled up faster then Uhrura can replicate them." He responded, not giving the man a chance to refuse it.

"It's Peach Cobbler Spock! Not poison!" He sighed long sufferingly, rolling his eyes as the man silently inspected it, his eyebrow once again in serious danger of disappearing into his hair line. "Of that I have no doubt Doctor...However, I do not ingest such...food so high in sugar content. No doubt as a Doctor you can see the logic behind such an action." He responded firmly, holding back the dish at him.

His ire piked he hadn't been able to suppress another exaggerated roll of his eyes, half wanting to take the difficult man in a strangle-hold and knock some sense into that thick Vulcan skull of his! "Spock, as your physician I would no doubt ENCOURAGE it, you need some more meat on those bones of yours anyway. Besides, **this is** a celebration of Cultural diversity is it not? Where is your sense of adventure you green-blooded robot?!" He snapped challengingly, his soft smirk taking the sting out of his words.

Spock had only just opened his mouth to reply when he was saved from answering as they were pointedly interrupted by a fake cough as Jim sashayed past their corner, leading Christine in a rather flamboyant waltz, his coat-tails fluttering behind him as he blew past. "Play nice gentlemen!" He cautioned with a grin, no doubt sensing their argument on the wind as he twirled, dipping the blond nurse expertly as he swung by.

They both stayed silent for a moment, watching the Captain's progress as he reached the center floor and gracefully handed her off to M'Benga who had smoothly cut in, his humorously exaggerated bow delighting Christine to laughter as they set off across the room together, her champagne curls glinting in the bright light as he led their movements.

Finally however Spock slowly retracted his hand, and with a calculating look he turned back to face him. "Indeed doctor, your logic is, _for once, _**surprisingly** sound..." He replied, pausing for a split second to let the jibe sink in before continuing. "However, then since this is a gathering to celebrate our differing cultures, I must insist you try one of my preferred Vulcan dishes." He replied, something akin to amusement reflecting back in his dark brown eyes.

Who ever said that Vulcans don't engage in such petty things as revenge had certainly lied out of their ass. He **still** hadn't forgiven Spock for those T'Thian grey-backed blood worms! At least **his** selection hadn't been...moving! Who would have thought Spock would dislike something as delishous as peaches anyway?!

Shuddering at the mere memory he placed his dishes in the recycler, crossing to the bathroom as he gathered his shaving kit. Splashing water on his face, he shivered slightly as the cool water shocked his skin. Mixing up the lather he couldn't stop his mind from wandering, unable to summon up the energy to be distressed when his body remembered the feel of the other man atop him. His scent filling his nostrils, invading his senses till he had sworn he could literally taste the Vulcan man on his tongue.

God damn him for it, but he loved that annoying son of a Vulcan. Logic, pointed ears, green blood and all! Despite how he knew it was wrong...how it felt to know that it was all one sided...That it was all an unrequited love. It was even tragic in it's own messed up way.. _'Let it not be said that he wasn't a hopeless romantic at heart.'_ He thought with a despairing snort, switching on his plasma razor with a loud click, running it across his cheeks in steady, even strokes.

When he reckoned he looked human enough again he finished up, running a hand across his smoothly soft skin, checking for any missed spots as he did so before switching on the water shower and dialling up the water to as hot as he could stand. Finally shucking off the rest of his filthy clothes he gratefully stepped in, groaning aloud in pleasure as the hot water began to pound all the sore tension of the past few days from his limbs. _'A good old fashioned water shower sure had nothing on those new fangled sonic units.'_ He thought with a pleased smile, drooping his head so the spray could better reach his tight neck.

_'God, that feels sooo good.'_ He thought with a barely suppressed moan, letting the water and the steam work it's magic on his tired muscles. Leaning back against the stall he closed his eyes against the stingingly hot water, massaging a generous dollop of shampoo into his scalp, his nose twitching at the strong, but pleasantly scented pine odour.

'_Boy, did it feel good to be clean again!' _He mused with a smile, rubbing the suds into the light brown hairs the smattered the expanse of his chest, traveling down his lightly toned stomach muscles to arrow down past his navel, proudly leading the way to his groin where the color subtly changed to a darker shade of brown that softly crowned his admittedly impressive erection.

_'Like I really needed __your__ opinion.'_ He muttered darkly, eying his traitorous organ in annoyance. Washing himself quickly he attempted to ignore his turgid member, trying in vain to purge the frustratingly erotic images of the Vulcan from his mind, imaging despite himself what the taller man might feel like under him. Even in the shower with him, his skin soaked and slick under his fingers as he might finally draw a pleasured moan from those 'oh so tempting' lips...and feel the mans arousal as the Vulcan could not resist an impassioned thrust against him, bringing their twin erections rubbing together in a brilliantly white-flared burst of sensation...

"**Oh get a grip!**" He whispered, resting his head in the crook of his arm as he leaned fully into the spray, turning the dial till the comfortingly warm water turned frigid, hoping the chill would serve to kill his arousal, and dampen the sizzling burn of passion from his blood.

Shaking his head, he let himself lament for a moment on his dilemma. In love with a pointed-eared Vulcan of all things...'_Why! Why do you always make things so difficult on yourself Leonard old boy?' _He asked himself half disbelievingly, turning to let the cooling spray hit him at all sides. After a few minutes he slowly turned off the water, shivering slightly as he ran his hands through his water-soaked hair, wiping the water from his eyes as he did so.

_'Why __**me**__? Why __**him**__!' _He couldn't help but wonder, a frown wrinkling his handsome features when his searching hand met only air, his towel annoyingly absent from it's place on his towel rack. _'Damn, I must have sent it to laundry.'_ He fumed, squinting through the water coursing down his face as he grabbed for the only other cloth in sight, a dark brown hand towel...

Cursing he stepped out of the shower, using the minuscule towel as best he could, rubbing his hair thoroughly to dry it as he dripped across the slick tiles, heading out of the bathroom for his linen closet, rubbing the towel across his face even as he walked, his toes curling slightly against the chilly decking underfoot.

He was so utterly intent on his course that he never even noticed the small popping noise as the distortion wave caught him, causing him to disappear from the arch of the bathroom door with a rippling shift of light, with only a few splattering drops trailing about his wet foot prints to the door serving as the only marker he had even been there at all...


	7. Chapter 7

_**Disclaimer:**__ I don't not own Star Trek or any of it's characters. Do you THINK I would be here if I did?! So I do not in any way shape or form own any of the plot or the characters. They belong to whoever owns 'em. I just took the general idea for a test jaunt. So, don't sue me...not that it would be beneficial, as I am a poor university student, yadda yadda yadda._

**Authors Note:** I wanted to thank all my reviewers. Firstly, you all rock! Your comments, advice, and praise has helped me immensely in the writing of this next chapter. Please continue to tell me your thoughts, and feed this starving writer! Also, sorry for the long wait for this chapter, other stories, university work and a huge dose of real life caught up with me.

**What A Hand Towel Can't Hide – 15.873 Seconds, An Eternity, But yet, somehow, Not Quite Enough..**

Fresh incense flared in the fire pot, the barely discernable hiss of the fragrant leaves catching flame seeming surreally loud in the near silence of the room. He sat facing the roaring blaze, mostly shadowed in the red-shaded gloom, his stark sable robe, embroidered with the silver-hued runes of his clan was the only thing that illuminated him amongst the flickering darkness. The bold color keeping him from melding into the scarlet backdrop entirely, anchoring his body to the physical world while his mind wandered through worlds much less solid and defined. Casting his mind not only through the experiences of his own years, but through centuries of instinctual memory and the hard won logic of his ancestors. Healing_...thinking...and searching for way to solve his current dilemma..._

_However...that was of course before the universe delivered to him something far more fascinating and deliciously welcome through the very arch of his bathroom door._

He had been sitting atop his mattress deep in thought when it happened, still trying to regain himself as he mediated, his long legs crossed, his fingers steepled at his chin as he concentrated. His keen senses shook him from his contemplation as he sensed the rooms changing dynamic, the hairs on the back of his neck prickling as a distortion wave warped the door in front of him, twisting and moulding the very design of the ship as the phenomenon deposited his unexpected guest squarely into his possession. _A timely and fortuitous happening indeed!_

By his most accurate calculations.....of which to this very day, he still could not entirely affirm, he had had approximately 15.873 seconds in which to simply stare. Never in all his years had he ever been rendered more surprised and utterly speechless then he was now. It was as if his brain had simply switched off, shuddering to a screaming halt with any words that might have left his lips, dieing at the sight of that lightly tanned, and gloriously naked form. It was _him_..._Leonard_....._His Leonard.._

It occurred to him many hours later, long after the southern surgeon had winked into view on his doorstep, beads of water still running in demure rivers down his chest, sheening his lean thighs in a fluxing shimmer of moisture, accentuating the subtle muscles that existed there. That in a way the sharp tongued man had finally succeeded in doing what he had been trying to achieve for over long four years. Not only had the man rendered him speechless, his brain stunned into an unaccustomed silence, but he had done it without even so much as parting his lips. _The man certainly knew how to ...as a human would call it: 'get under his skin..' He always had._

However despite the unknown phenomenon that had engulfed the ship, he had to admit to himself that in truth, he wasn't exactly unsurprised, because if it was going to be anyone showing up dripping wet in his chambers, it _would_ be Doctor Leonard McCoy....

He stood there, as naked as the sandstone etchings of his ancestors ancient gods, proud, strong, serene...and entirely and utterly obviously to his gaze. A small brown wash cloth rubbed briskly over his face, covering his eyes as he took a few small steps from the door, the towel now rubbing through his light brown hair, making the thick strands stand up every which way as he thoroughly dried it. The mans scent was thick in the air until all he could smell was the scent of the pine forests and the untamed wilderness of Earth, with the natural musk of the man spreading in place of the native spices of his planet. _Fitting._

He still had his eyes closed, now running the towel along his neck and chest, the mans pleasured sigh at the motion nearly making him bolt upright, forcing himself to suppress his own desire and need for this strange, temperamental human man.

But even as his fingers twitched fitfully along the long, draping hems of his sleeves, he found that he couldn't tear his eyes away, unable to do anything but watch that small brown towel as it slowly..._so slowly_, rubbed along that tanned skin. Skimming along his lightly defined pectoral muscles, and then trailing down..._down_ towards his navel, drying those light brown hairs that speckled his belly, before tracing along the edge of the odd scar or freckle as though the cloth was mapping the course of an entire lifetime then simply drying a mans body.

He was so far gone that the first thing on his mind was purely the physical. Of course, like any green blooded Vulcan, he yearned for a bond..to take his chosen into himself, and to give himself to him in turn. Even the thought of the slightest of mind touches brushed alluring along the edges of his unstable mental barriers as the siren song of his ancient race called to him, singing songs of connection and oneness within oneself and bond. The song was always the same, the tone elegant and strong, but yet it was the melody that always echoed in his mind as unfulfilled and yearning. _His melody.._

But now, even the wish for a mental connection was overwhelmed by the need for something much more solid and concrete. He simply wanted the man. He wanted all of him. All he might be allowed to have, regardless if it was only for this moment, or if he might be fortunate enough to be given it all. To know this strange human man as deeply as two lovers could truely know one another, through the body, mind, and soul. '_Hearts mate.' _His mind breathed again, resounding in his head like the first roll of thunder that foretold a storm. _It was now upon them.._

And for a moment, there was nothing he wanted more then to simply touch him, to feel that newly naked skin sliding across his own, to trail a hand through that sparse chest hair, and make him arch and murmur as his hand arrowed down. He wanted to hear the man slowly come apart under his hands, he wanted to hear that southern accent stutter and break across his lips until he was moaning nonsense and empty syllables into his eager ears.

_Somehow, he found it as no surprise that it would Leonard McCoy who would be the one to bring out the human side of him...._

He could think of nothing to broach the silence, as for once, the proper words did not spring easily to his tongue..nor could he think of any action that would be appropriate in this situation. As it was, it was all he could do but ignore his basis instincts, trying to control his worrisomely unruly thoughts as they plied him with growingly crude and rather rash suggestions...

Logic and courtesy urged him to rise, to break the silence and ...perhaps offer him a robe, or a spare shirt. Maybe even switch on his tri-corder and scan the area for any lingering sign of the phenomenon in the guise of duty and science...But yet he did nothing. He simply let his gaze rove over the man, taking in not only his exposed skin, but his demeanour...his body language, something he had rarely, if ever had the chance to observe so openly.

The man's barriers seemed as striped as his uniform, he seemed more relaxed, more authentic. Unlike the majority of humans he had met over his lifetime, he seemed supremely comfortable in his own skin, displaying both his body's wonders and imperfections proudly, as if daring the universe to make a comment, whether it was agreeable or otherwise.

He also seemed somehow younger, as if his uniform added to his years, weighing him down under years professionalism and responsibility.

_Seeing him like this was like fitting another piece into a vast, years long jig-saw puzzle._

But even as this all occurred to him, the hint of something else, something far more deeply hidden lurked on his face. It was present in the slight shadows under his eyes, or just hidden in the scrunched part of his brow..this was different, mental. _There was something on the inside that plagued him._

But then mere seconds after the half formed thought had made it's mark, it flitted away, vanishing off his face like a drop of rain that sizzles into oblivion in the desert heat. _Unmarked, like it had never been there at all. _Why? What secrets did his man shy from? A man who backed down from nothing and no one...

Shifting on his cushioned rugs, his mind raced. He _had_ wanted to approach this issue between them in his own way, when he was more settled in mind, and rested in body. When he had had the chance to sort through his emotions before he, in a sense, released them on this man.

But as usual, Leonard McCoy, _never_ made it easy. Truly only _he_ would have invaded his room in such a manner, as unclothed and...enticing as he was, it was strangely typical of the doctor. A man who was as stimulating to his mind and intellect as he was to his body and ...as a human might say, to his heart as well..

Finally lowering his steepled hands, he slowly let them fall on either thigh, unsure if it was simply a convenient place to rest them, or if he was trying in some small way to stop himself from giving in to temptation and going to the man. _It was impossible to tell, even to him. _

He could feel the quiet, rolling heat from the fire pot as its warmth soaked into him, heating the newly exposed flesh of his chest that his loosely tied robe had revealed, the dark, sable color accentuating the subtle olive tone of his skin, the color seeming to pick up the silver embroidery as it glinted in the red-tinged light. The color seeming to mirror the feverish pace of his mind as it search for a solution.

It was then that he realized that in the end, he could do and say nothing, despite what logic, normalcy, and even courtesy might demand, it was Leonard now that would determine his next move. It would be him, whether consciously or not, that would tell him what he needed to do and say. As Jim so often remarked: 'The ball was in the Doctors court' now.

_All that was left was for him to look up, and open his eyes..._

**A/N:** Howdy all, I hope this chapter lived up to all of your waiting, and expectations. Hopefully I didn't disappoint you. I find after a significant break from any story it is hard to regain the mood in which it was written, so I spent about a week getting back into the story and re-thinking the contents of this chapter before I posted it. I had originally planned to finish up the story in this chapter, but found I wanted to get Spock POV in before the grand finish. I have to say I find it hard to write the last few chapters of a story regardless of its contents, but this time it proved more challenging then I had anticipated, hence the long wait! **Please let me know what you think, and if you still want an end to this story. I know there has been a significant break from updating (My BAD! Sorry!), so I want to make sure there is still an interest in this fic before I invest time in writing the final chapter. Hope to hear from you all ****soon!**


	8. Chapter 8

_**Disclaimer:**__I don't not own Star Trek or any of it's characters. Do you THINK I would be here if I did?! So I do not in any way shape or form own any of the plot or the characters. They belong to whoever owns 'em. I just took the general idea for a test jaunt. So, don't sue me...not that it would be beneficial, as I am a poor university student, yadda yadda yadda._

**Authors Note:** I wanted to thank all my reviewers. Firstly, you all rock! Your comments, advice, and praise has helped me immensely in the writing of this chapter. Please continue to tell me your thoughts, and feed this starving writer! Also, sorry that it took about a year or so to finally begin to finish up this tale. As much as I love it, it seemed to get perpetually put on the backburner whenever a random plot bunny would strike! Hee!

**A/N:** Seriously, I hate the world. I had planned to finish this story in this chapter, but the damn thing got way too long halfway through writing it. So rather then SPAM you all with a massive 10 page chapter, I found a good place to split it up. Hopefully I will have fully completely AND FINALLY ENDED this stupidly long chapter (part 2) soon. Stay tuned folks! There be McCoy and Spock smut ahead!

**What A Hand Towel Can't Hide**

**'_This love....This love is a strange love....A faded kind of day love....This love.. Give in to me...Give in to me...'_**

The rough weave of the towel felt brisk and decidedly rough as he vigorously scrubbed it across his scalp. It felt good, good in the way a neck massage only feels good a few moments after the expert hands have left the skin, when the tight pain suddenly gives way to pleasure, spreading in that unique rush of warmth, that glow of physical satisfaction that highlights the nerves, flushing the skin in a pleased, healthy blush. It was a simple pleasure, something easily taken for granted and often ignored entirely in the face of this fast paced and increasingly technologically driven world.

_It was things like this, these simple pleasures, like that of a hot, honest-to-god water shower, or the contentment that only a full belly can bring, and yes, even the rough way a towel rubbed across your scalp..it was these things that affirmed his belief that some of life's greatest pleasures could be earth shatteringly basic._

_And in essence, in the face of this often intimidating and confusing technological world, it was those things that he subscribed too, those little human pleasures and experiences. And in letting himself indulge, in experiencing them as human kind had for countless centuries before, he somehow felt that he was closer to the breadth of mankind then anyone living now in this day and age could ever get..._

_It made him feel that much more human, he supposed._

He was halfway through rubbing the towel through his hair when he realized it. Something suddenly felt different. _Changed. _He couldn't explain the feeling, he just knew it. He knew it despite the fact that the deck plating at his feet was still the same mess of sharp indentations and curves under around his bare, inquisitive toes, and that the barely discernable thrum of the engines still hummed around him.

_Something was off, something wasn't right..._

An unexplainable tension tightened his shoulders, the sensation pricking the hair on the back of his neck in a sudden gust of goose bumps. And with a slow, deliberate movement born of the confidence that comes from many years aboard the Enterprise, he slowly let the towel slip from his face, unveiling his gaze to the room.....

_For one slow, age long minute all he could do was stare. _

_He couldn't even think. What he was seeing just didn't even register. All he could feel was the tightness in his cheeks as his eyes blew wide, the slackness of his mouth as his jaw loosened, and the feeling of his eyebrows trying to disappear into his tousled, water slicked hair._

He didn't really know it till later, but right then, his eyes were seeing it, but his mind couldn't hold the image, so he didn't really see the reclining man in front of him, his legs crossed as he maintained his meditative posture, his slender-fingered hands resting demurely on his thighs as his loosely flowing black robe rippled, baring his naked chest to the firelight.

Neither did he _really_ see that god damned tilt of his head or follow the movement of that single expressive eyebrow as it arched up. And he definitely didn't see that subtle twitch that ghosted around the corners of his lips, or the imperceptible movement that tensed the muscles of his thighs, as if he was resisting the impulse to rise. Nor did he really register that strange, simmering look that remained strong in those dark brown eyes.

It was the same thing he had seen all too fleetingly only three days before as he landed, sprawled out on the deck plating, covered in the man's warmth and heady presence, now it was a look that refused to be suppressed or dampened, one that shined with a secret warmth and a dozen different things that he couldn't even begin to understand.

_Except that he really did see it. He saw it all... Sweet Georgia! Damn that green blooded son of bitch anyway!_

Even years later, he still couldn't for the life of him recall what had been going through his mind in those moments. In fact he had a sneaking suspicion he hadn't even have any at that point!

_Nooo_ he had been too god damn busy trying to do those little things ... like continuing breathing and trying for the life of him to close his country-boy like gape and collect his open mouth from where he was quite certain it had landed somewhere down on the deck plating.

This was why he sometimes hated space. There was always something scrambling up his molecules, there was always something lurking around the next nebula that was going to infect you with some sort of deadly space fungus, or some sort of god forsaken anomaly or space entity hell bent on rampage and general destruction, or a roaming band of violent natives, or planet eating space worms, and advanced aliens with superiority complexes that gave even Jim a run for his credits.

_Well he had had enough already!_

He figured that about now the universe owed him a few favours, but no what does cheating both lady luck and the grim reaper for the good of both mankind and the entire damn galaxy get him? Butt naked, and dripping in the middle of none other then Spock's god damn living room that's what! The man not only being the cause of his inner turmoil but a Vulcan to boot! It sounded like something straight out of one of those god awful, old time soap operas that Joanna had always obsessed over in her teenage years.

_Somewhere, right at that moment, some sadistic bastard was laughing their ass off at him. He just knew it._

'Of all the days to wander around _naked_ Leonard..' A snide little voice snarked somewhere in his brain. And this time, he was actually inclined to agree with it. He would have even rolled his eyes at himself at that moment if he had been able to scrape two brain cells together.

_'Fat chance Leonard old boy.' _He told himself fatalistically, rightly guessing that any chance of regaining his higher brain functions, even after such a shock and embarrassing surprise as this, had been totally destroyed by the smouldering gaze of the man in front of him.

His toes curled into the deck plating, poised for a flight to no where, and for a few wild, half panicked seconds that dawn on him before he fully took what he was seeing, and before those exotic scents that had filled his nostrils had fully impacted his brain. Before the realization really hit, he wondered if he could just feint to the left and streak through the door.

But as appealing as thought was to escape from that bold-as-brass stare, in truth it would likely be just as bad to bound through the halls absolutely starkers, if that didn't get the female ensigns twittering and mock fainting then he didn't know what would.

_If Jim ever found out about this there would be no living with him for weeks... Or until he called the man in for a surprise performance physical out of sheer spite, just to teach the smug little bastard a lesson .....whatever came first._

So, instead, since there really wasn't anything he could actually do, he attempted to look as dignified as one could look when caught in their birthday suit...

In one jerky movement he stumbled a half step backwards, his mouth closing with an audible snap as the hand holding that tiny little hand towel flew to cover his groin. _Despite the fact that the green blooded Vulcan had likely already gotten quite the eyeful. _

_'Hope he got a good view.' He snarked sarcastically, internally shaking his head at himself as a smouldering blush that rivalled the crimson walls of the mans quarters chased his barely hidden mortification up his cheeks and neck._

He held onto that hand towel like he did his mangled pride and bruised ego, _tightly_ and with great care, trying to ignore the fact that the merger piece of brown cloth barely covered anything to begin with. It was enough to make him actually fidget under that unfathomably dark eyed stare, as that same heated look as before simmered behind those rapidly darkening, almond shaped eyes. A look that intensified still further as the man abruptly moved, unfolding himself easily from his pillow top perch and rising gracefully to his feet.

And strangely, the thing he noticed first was the soft, subtly green-shaded skin of the man's bare feet, the pale, delicate looking skin remaining completely hairless, in stark contrast with his own tanned and calloused ones, the tops darkened with a few dark brown hairs. His eyes were drawn to them, watching as the loose sable robe swirled and sucked at the air around the Vulcan man's ankles. _Bare feet._ For some reason the mere idea of Spock wandering around barefoot was ludicrous.

_'He would thought that the over-grown, pointy eared robot __**slept**__ in his uniform...' _He mused with an inner grin, feeling a trickle of his usual self confidence returning at the thought.

But instead of speaking, he found himself still uncommonly tongue tied, only able to slowly wrench his gaze up from the mans feet. Raising them gradually, like thick molasses as it inches slowly down the sides of an upturned bowl, the solid syrup only grudgingly moving at first, but turning slowly into a unstoppably dense avalanche of sugary sweetness as it eventually gains momentum….racing thickly down towards an eager finger or tongue.

And his eyes slowly travelled up the man like that, the heated air suddenly turning cloyingly thick in his lungs, like he was drinking in the air rather then breathing it. The strong, foreign herbs of the man's mediation incense searing his throat, leaving him suddenly parched and wrung of moisture.

But to his credit Spock said nothing of his blatant scrutiny, allowing him to stare, until he was actually mapping out the man's lean form with his gaze. Something which only seemed fair, as the mans own piecing eyes had refused to leave his, resting so firmly and unfailingly upon him that it was almost enough to distract him from the fact that he was still _completely_ starkers. _Almost._

In fact the man watched him with such intensity that it lended in rendering him mute, finding himself unable to do _anything_ but breath harshly, almost panting as the other hand that did not clutch the little square of cloth at his groin, twitched fitfully along his hip, as if he was about to gesture, or even take a step forward, but then aburptly thought better of it...

The silence was so deafening that he almost wished for the red alert to sound, for _anything! _For something to shake them both out of this age-long moment, something that to him was far too disturbingly familiar to the kind of nightmare that only every new, self-conscious Ensign has. The one where they stride into the bridge in nothing but the vivacious shade of their full-on mortification and embarrassment when the hapless officer realizes it, looking down in dawning horror at the uniform and underclothes that is no longer there.

The moment was broken however when he let his tongue sweep out to lick at his bottom lip, his nervousness and uncertainty finally finding an outlet as he worried the lip between his teeth.

He was taken aback when the mans eyes suddenly snapped upwards, following the minute movements of his tongue as it ran across his dry lips, tasting the nervous sweat that had broken out across his upper lip, his mind racing as the man took a measured step forward, shortening the distance between them in a move he was sure was meant to unsettle him on purpose.

_'What's he playing at?' _He wondered suddenly, his own eyebrow raising as his mind worked furiously. Something didn't add up here, something wasn't right, he was missing something.. _There was a part to this dance that had not yet been revealed._

He had expected that Spock would have at least said **something** by now, figured he couldn't have been able to resist it. After all, Vulcan or not, it wasn't like catching your friendly neighbourhood doctor, and verbal sparing partner butt naked in the middle of your quarters happened every other day!? But no, the man hadn't even said a damned word! It was as if he was waiting for something...

He had expected those and a hundred other things. But they didn't come.

_He said nothing, did nothing.., He just stood there, slowly and sporadically advancing, as if unsure of him. Spock was NEVER unsure, never hesitant. What in blazes was going on here!?_

Finally he couldn't stand it anymore, standing around like a slack-jawed teenager caught staring at his first crush was certainly getting old, they were fully grown adults, and trained Starfleet officers for god sakes!

_'Right, because you flounce around naked in Spock's quarters on a regular basis.' The little voice commented snidley. 'I wish.' _He mentally replied, carefully ignoring the fact that he was essentially having an arguement with himself.

_He blamed Spock. _

This was all that point-earred hobgoblins fault! Him and his damned 'curiousity' and bloody complusion to continually sticking his nose where it didn't belong. He was often surprised that he himself hadn't suffered a massive cornary already, just from the stress. The pointy-earred hobgoblin deserved a serious dressing down!

It was those few thoughts that suddenly brought back his red hot temper, leaving him feeling extradinarly indigant and pissed off. As if the stress, anger, uncertainity and confusion of the last few days had just compiled upon each other in one single moment, overwhelming him with the emotions of the last four days in a landslide of emotion.

_And if he had only been wearing some god damned pants he would have seriously considered ripping the Vulcan a new one right then and there... However the lack of pants, and clothing in general was still a serious issue._

After a few noted moments of silence he began to feel remarkably like they were caught in the middle of some sort of damnable cat and mouse game. And worst of all, he realized that he was the mouse, the shrieking, quivering little creature that desperately sought escape to nowhere.

_Even the image was undignified, because he, Doctor Leonard McCoy, Chief medical officer of the USS Enterprise quivered in the face of no one. Not even if they were butt naked, and caught in the presence of a bare-chested, rippling robed, barely-covered mind blowingly sensual Vulcan. _

_...._And while he was busy deluding himself, he also decided he wanted a five hundred acre horse ranch in the southern mountains of Georgia, his own research lab with unlimited funding, and a beach front bungalow on Risa.

Sometimes he wondered if it was actually possible for the universe to physically hate him..... Spock would of course say no, pointing out a dozen and a half reasons why even forming such a statement was both illogical and going against all the known laws of astrophysics and science to boot...But no, he knew better, because there was absolutely no way that **this** could have happened to him without some sort for nefariously evil aid.

Someone out there was out to get him, he knew it.

_..Damnit._

**A/N #1:** AUUUUUUUUUUUUUGH. (Flails around) I really, SERIOUSLY wanted this to be last chapter. Not that I don't adore this story, because I do. It has been fun and interesting to write. However I DID want to wrap it up in this chapter. (HA!) Apparently though our boys had other plans. (Smacks the boys. Then pets them because they are so cute when they are indignant!)

A/N #2: The title for this story is a weird one actually. It is mixed lyric title that I got inspired to 'create' after hearing: "Give in to me." By Michael Jackson and "This Love" by Sarah Brightman. It just felt..._right_ so I went with it. Only broke about a dozen laws in the process, but it was worth it! Ha!


End file.
